


take a stand with the stamina god has granted us

by pensiveVisionary (hamburr)



Series: bury me face down [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff, Gun Violence, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamburr/pseuds/pensiveVisionary
Summary: Aaron Burr is just trying to do the best with the circumstances he's been presented with, but has now been presented with the immensely trying circumstance of one Alexander Hamilton, the bane of his everyday work existence, showing up at his night job, which Hamilton is not even remotely qualified for. And he still won't leave.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluecarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/gifts).



> yes hello i come bringing a gift of hamburr 4 a cool friend who deserves All the good things
> 
> happy the holiday season

“Sir -- sir, excuse me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This area is not safe for civilians.”

“No, I’m here to help!” says the guy, turning around, and Burr has to try not to groan aloud. Alexander Hamilton, the bane of his everyday work existence, is now here, interrupting his other job.

“I -- really don’t think so.”

“No, look! I’ve got a uniform and everything,” -- he punctuates this by gesturing at his chest, where BAM! is emblazoned in big block letters -- is that supposed to be his nickname? “I’m totally good. It’s cool. I’ll be super helpful.”

Burr tries not to wince at the tackiness of his outfit. “You aren’t on the clearance list. Go home.”

Hamilton pouts. It is not becoming. Burr’s life would really be a lot easier if this asshole would quit it with the theatrics. “How do you know that?”

“Hamilton,” he says, “could you please, for once in your life, butt out of a situation? If you stay here, you’re going to get shot.”

“Hey! What? How do you know me?”

“A man has to keep some of his secrets. Please leave.”

Hamilton rolls his eyes, but slinks off. Burr sees him walk into the coffee shop two doors down. Not much safer, but a bit.

“Dude, once you’re done dawdling, we could use a hand over here!”

“I’m coming,” says Burr. “Just someone trying to be where they shouldn’t.”

 

Of course this is not the last time this happens. Of course Hamilton starts showing up all the time, and of course it’s Burr who is always stuck with handling him.

“Trying to foil me again?” says Hamilton, around the tenth time they run into each other. He is loitering outside at his assigned post, and Burr would has completely ceased being surprised by Hamilton's appearances. He's prepared this time.

“No. I did bring you coffee, though. It’s cold out. Maybe you'll quit complaining if you've got something warm?”

Hamilton stares at him in outright confusion, but accepts the coffee. He keeps giving Burr funny looks, but Burr ignores him and continues keeping watch.

Nothing happens that night, and the two retire after sunrise to squeeze in an hour or two of sleep before they are due to go to work. Hamilton is less combative that day -- maybe because Burr is sleepy, and doesn’t really feel like engaging, or maybe the other way around, or… something. He doesn’t dwell.

He _doesn’t_.

And he especially doesn’t think of it the next time they spend a late night together, and idly talking -- or the time after, when Hamilton realizes Burr never gets coffee for himself and brings Burr a coffee to give in return to the one Burr presents him with -- or the time after that when Hamilton falls asleep on Burr’s shoulder --

He doesn’t linger on that one at all, especially not when he sees him the next day, and not when Hamilton walks past his office and gives him a little smile and wave, and he definitely isn’t wondering whether Hamilton knows it’s him yet.

 

The next time, they aren’t just sitting idly. Burr is tense; everything feels a little bit off. A precognitive friend said something big was going to happen tonight, and there are people stationed all across the city. Hamilton, of course, shows up about twenty minutes after Burr, but Burr doesn’t have coffee for him this time, he wants him to leave.

“Hamilton --”

“Stop calling me that here,” he whines. "I've got an alias."

“Hamilton,” Burr says again, more sternly this time, “you really need to leave this time. It’s not safe.”

“You’ve said that before, but I’ve always been fine! Give me a chance! I promise I won’t let you down.”

“Nothing’s happened before,” he starts, but this does nothing for Hamilton’s stubborn expression. He sighs. “I’m sure you would do just fine, but, please. Just this once?”

“You said that the last time you sent me home. I’m not going.”

Too distracted with their squabbling, they almost miss it when three people dressed in dark clothes approach the building.

Several things happen in very quick succession. Burr moves towards them, to stop them. Hamilton takes off at a sprint -- no subtlety, that man, that’s why there’s training for this job, for fuck’s sake -- and --

clickBOOM, and Hamilton is clutching at his side and Burr is running now, yelling, “WAIT!” and, “Alexander!” and he gets shot at, he’s pretty sure, but it bounces off him anyway and it doesn’t matter, he has to get to Alexander, he yells at them to stop and they freeze, quite literally.

“Ah,” Alexander says dimly. “So there is a reason they call you Brrr.”

“Fuck,” says Burr, his voice breaking, and he peels off his mask so he can see better as he kneels down beside him. Alexander stares at him, mouth open.

“Burr, you fucker -- that’s how you know my name -- ”

“Shh. Shh,” Burr says, looking him over. Blood is soaking through his shirt. Oh, god. Fuck. That’s as lot of blood. Burr keeps pushing the emergency button installed on the inside of his sleeve, but he hasn’t gotten any acknowledgment yet, is someone going to come?

“Man, that’s so obvious too, like, Burr? Brrr? It sounds the same. That’s _so_ obvious. How come I didn’t figure out it was you? I see you every goddamn day. Even with the prosopagnosia I probably should’ve been able to figure that out.”

“Your friend Hercules has a gift with concealing identities,” Burr says, and, “Talk less.”

“God _damn_ it, why does everyone have superpowers except me?”

“Shh,” Burr says again. “Save your strength.”

“Is someone coming to help?”

The speaker in Burr’s ear finally crackles to life.

“What’s the emergency?”

“Hi, yes, attempted bank robbery, civilian injured, we need help _immediately_.” He tries to keep the panic out of his voice; he is not sure that he succeeds.

“We can have someone there in… fifteen to twenty minutes?”

Burr swears. “That’s not soon enough.”

“That’s the best we can do.”

Burr says another very bad word and then says, “Fine. _Fine_.” He snaps his fingers and the coating of ice around the three criminals grows thicker. “They’ll be frozen here for a good two hours but please get someone here before then. I’m going to take this guy to the hospital.”

“Sir --”

“He is injured and I will not let him die on my watch. Good night,” says Burr, and ends the call.

Alexander blinks up at him.

“Am I dying?”

“Don’t you dare,” says Burr.

 

He is not very practiced with super-speed. He is generally more careful and cautious than that particular talent allows, and when he was younger and had less control he spent a lot of time crashing into things at full speed. But he holds Alexander carefully, ignoring the bit of the training that says _what the fuck, don’t pick up someone who’s injured unless you know it’s okay_ because he doesn’t have another choice and he _runs_ , and everything is a blur, after that, of running and people and fluorescent lights and he doesn’t really know what’s happening until he’s sitting in a waiting room, his heart still pounding, still breathing too hard. He leans forward and puts his head in his hands and closes his eyes and tries to breathe, tries to calm down, ground himself again. He’s not really sure how long he’s been here. Could be five minutes. Could be hours.

He stays like that, counting breaths -- _in_ , two, three, four, _out_ , two, three, four -- until someone else appears in the waiting room.

“Aaron Burr?”

It is a nurse, and suddenly Burr’s heart is racing again.

“Yeah?” he says, hoarsely.

“Your --” the nurse squints at the paper, trying to figure out the relationship they have, “-- Alexander has just come out of surgery. He is in stable condition, though he lost a lot of blood.”

“So he’s going to be okay?” He is almost embarrassed by the raw hope in his voice. Almost.

“If he pulls through the night, he will make it through anything. I will let you know as the situation develops.”

Burr nods, and the nurse must take it as a dismissal, because they exit the room and Burr slumps back in the chair.

He spends the rest of the night absently flipping through magazines without even seeing the pages. The TV is on; at what must be seven o’clock the news comes on, and there is a brief mention of the attempted robbery. The criminals were apprehended, with one civilian casualty, the broadcaster says, but the coverage of that is overshadowed by something else that must have happened elsewhere -- probably whatever kept them from getting help to Alexander --

Burr finds the power button and turns it off. Casualty sounds too final. Casualty sounds like Alexander is dead, but he’s not, he would have been told by now if he was, he would have.

“Mr. Burr,” says a voice -- the same nurse again -- and they have a hesitant smile on their face. “If you’d like to see Alexander, you may. He is sleeping, but he is doing well.”

Burr feels lightheaded with relief. He lets them lead him down the hall, and sits dizzily in the chair next to Alexander’s bed.

Alexander is pale, his face still and neutral. It’s wrong, it feels wrong to be looking at him while he’s this vulnerable. He can see Alexander’s chest rise and fall with his breathing. The nurse is talking to him, telling him about what was injured and how and why but Burr isn’t processing any of it. Alexander’s hand is resting on top of the blankets and Burr takes it in both of his.

He doesn’t move until he is told to, and only then with reluctance. He wanders off to find something to eat; he finds a little coffee shop on the first floor and gets a sandwich (which is not that good) and a coffee (which is even worse, and then he realizes he habitually gave Alexander’s order, and then everything hurts again).

He goes back upstairs, to his lonely waiting room. There’s someone else there now, a woman with dark hair and dark eyes, and she looks up when Burr comes in.

“Oh,” she says. “I thought you were the nurse.”

“Sorry,” he says.

“Maybe no news is good news,” she says, and he looks at her. She has a sweet round face, but her expression is tight with anxiety.

“I hope so,” Burr says. He takes a drink of his coffee and tries not to make a face. It’s got too much sugar. He doesn’t know how Alexander can drink it.

“Eliza Schuyler?” says the nurse, entering the room again. The woman -- Eliza -- startles and looks up.

“Yes?”

“Theodosia is awake now. In a little bit, if you would like, I can retrieve you so that you can visit her.”

“Thank you,” says Eliza, weakly.

The name rings a bell. Theodosia is not an especially common name.

“Sorry -- uh, but -- that wouldn’t -- happen to be Theodosia Prevost, would it?”

Eliza’s eyebrows are drawn together, but she nods.

“She was my roommate in college,” Burr says.

“Oh, you’re Aaron Burr?” She looks him up and down with interest.

It’s Burr’s turn to nod, and he would inquire, but --

“Mr. Burr, Alexander is awake and asking for you.”

Burr leaps to his feet -- almost spills his coffee but doesn’t -- and goes down the hall again. Alexander looks groggy, and still pale, but he looks up at Burr and gives him a blurry smile and Burr sits down and takes Alexander’s hand again.

“Hey,” says Alexander. Burr holds tight to his hand.

“How… how are you?”

“I am on so much pain medication, you wouldn’t fuckin’ _believe_. Why are you holding my hand?”

“Because I was really scared you were going to die and I really did not want you to and I just. Kind of need confirmation that you’re really here.”

Alexander gives him a little smile and squeezes his hand. “I’m really here. Promise.”

And Burr stays there and holds his hand until Alexander drifts back off to sleep and Burr gets kicked out of the room so he can rest. Eliza is not there, when he gets back, and he sits in the chair in the corner, the one against the wall, thinking to just rest his head against it and close his eyes --

When he wakes up, his back and neck hurt from sleeping sitting up, and Eliza is back. She is reading a magazine, and glances up when she hears Burr hiss out a breath when he stretches.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Ngh,” says Burr. He pulls out his phone to check it. It’s dead. He wonders if anyone has been trying to reach him. He wonders if he should have been contacting people. Probably. He’ll ask Alexander the next time he gets to see him.

“Is your Alexander one Alexander Hamilton?”

“What a terribly small world this is. How do you know him?”

“We dated in college.” She says this with a touch of amusement. “If what I’ve heard from Teddy is true, it seems we’ve swapped exes.”

“Er -- I’m not dating Alexander.” Pause. “Were you gossiping about me?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“So she’s doing all right, then?”

“Yes. She had surgery; she’s okay right now. If you get a chance, she said you’re welcome to come visit.”

“That would be nice.”

“Here, give me your number so I can text you what room we’re in.”

Burr enters his number into her phone, then remembers: “My phone is dead.”

“So go run home and change out of your silly uniform and get your charger and eat some real food, you look terrible. I can send you updates if the nurse comes back.”

Burr is reluctant to leave, especially since he remembers that he doesn’t really have a mode of transportation, but he knows it’s the most sensible thing, and so he goes. He takes the bus; he goes back to his apartment and plugs in his phone and takes a quick shower and makes himself a sandwich.

 **3:10 PM | [Unknown Number]**  
Hey, it’s Eliza. Just went to visit Alex; he was pretty coherent and asked where you were. I told him you went home to get some things and stuff and he said that was good, so don’t worry. If anything gets worse with Alex, they’re to call you. I’ve messaged his friends and updated them so you don’t have to worry about that.

 **3:42 PM | Aaron Burr**  
Thank you so much.

 **3:44 PM | Eliza Schuyler**  
Of course! You should take a nap before you come back

 **3:45 PM | Aaron Burr**  
What if something happens?

 **3:47 PM | Eliza Schuyler**  
Then they’ll call you and you’ll come here. Get some sleep and turn your phone volume all the way up if that’ll make you feel better. Ok?

 **3:49 PM | Aaron Burr**  
Okay, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep.

 **3:50 PM | Eliza Schuyler**  
Lol okay

 

When Burr wakes up, it’s been nearly six hours. He shakes himself more awake and calls the hospital, asks for an update; they say he’s sleeping again, he’s doing all right, and that he won’t be seeing visitors until the next morning.

Burr sets an alarm for nine, pulls the blanket over his head, and falls back asleep.

When he wakes, he feels groggy from the amount of sleep he’s had. He checks his phone. No messages, but he’s managed to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Impressive. He’s sure he needed it, between the exploitation of his powers and the all-nighter he pulled immediately thereafter. He calls in to check on Alexander; the report he gets, from someone who sounds vaguely bemused, is that Alexander is doing far better than expected.

Burr showers and dresses quickly and makes his way over. Alexander, bright-eyed and awake, looks positively thrilled to see Burr.

“Hey,” says Burr, sitting. “How are you feeling?”

“Significantly improved. I mean, I don’t have a bullet inside me anymore.” Alexander looks pleased at the grimace Burr pulls at that. “They’ve been fussing and running tests all day. I think they think I have some sort of… ability that’s making me heal fast, but that’s impossible, it couldn’t possibly… I would’ve known,” he says, and his brow is furrowed and he looks away. When he looks back at Burr, he gives an unhappy-looking half-smile and shrugs.

Burr isn’t sure what to say, but Alexander keeps talking. “Anyway, what’s keeping you here? You’re being fussy too. Don’t tell me you blame yourself or some bullshit like that, you definitely saved my ass.”

“Is it such a long shot to imagine I might care about your well-being, to some extent?”

Alexander laughs. “Such a wordy way to say you really do give a shit about me. Heaven forbid anyone knows that Aaron Burr cares about anything.”

Burr kindly abstains from rolling his eyes.

 

They are interrupted by approximately the millionth nurse holding a clipboard that Burr has seen recently. “The tests came back,” they announce.

“Oh good, now we can all see what an ordinary human being I am--”

“Actually,” says the nurse, “actually, we have found that you have regenerative abilities that are activated when your life is in danger. So, it’s unlikely you would be able to recover from a cold or minor injury noticeably more quickly than anyone without this ability, but a severe illness or wound would most certainly heal very quickly. You’re very unlikely to die of illness or injury.”

“Oh,” says Alex, in a very small voice.

“A doctor will be in shortly to assess your progress and see what the next steps will be.”

“Okay,” says Alex, in that same voice, and the nurse leaves. Alexander stares blankly at his blankets, and Burr reaches out, touches his arm lightly. Alexander turns and looks at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I -- when I was a kid -- my mom and I got sick -- she died and I didn’t and -- and this is why? How is that fair?” He winces, like he didn’t mean to say that, and looks away.

Burr takes his hand -- he isn’t really sure why, it just seems like the right thing to do -- and squeezes gently. Alex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, sighs it out.

It is at that moment the doctor arrives, and Burr is instructed to leave. He is reluctant, worried about Alex, but obliges. He texts Eliza, asking what room Theo is in.

 **11:03 AM | Eliza Schuyler**  
211 but rn it’s just family only cause there were some complications overnight. I’ll keep u posted tho

 **11:07 AM | Aaron Burr**  
Okay. All my love. Hope things start getting better for her again soon.

 **11:10 AM | Eliza Schuyler**  
Thanks. I’ll tell her you said so. Ttyl

The conversation leaves him with more anxiety than he left with, but he is soon allowed to come back to Alexander. He looks a bit less shaken now, but still not quite the Alex that Burr is familiar with.

“I can go home this evening,” Alexander says. “Well. Kind of. They want me to be staying with someone who -- y’know -- can help me if I need it, or whatever, since I’m still healing and stuff.” He looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know who I’d call. Laf brought John and Hercules home to France for his birthday, that rich asshole, and -- uh -- I doubt Eliza would want to put up with me for an extended period of time even if she did come visit me last night, and --”

“Is this a roundabout way of asking if I could stay with you, or you with me?”

Alex goes red, says, “I mean -- I don’t -- I don’t want to inconvenience you or get in your way, I’m really annoying actually and --”

“Shh,” says Burr, and takes his hand again. Alex looks at him with very wide eyes. “It’s okay. Would you rather stay at your own place or with me?”

“My place is, uh, to put it nicely, a mess, and I don’t want to put you more out of your comfort zone than you’d already be --”

“Okay,” says Burr, and he’s trying not to laugh at Alexander’s fluster. “Okay. Then I will come pick you up tonight at -- what time?”

“Uh. Seven-thirty?”

“Then I will be here at seven-thirty.”

“Can -- uh, you can tell me if this is overstepping, but would you, maybe, possibly, be able to get some stuff for me from my place? Like clothes and whatever?”

“Of course.”

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“I am.”

“Why? Burr, are you just doing this because you pity me and you feel bad that I got shot, or --” He stops, and he looks terribly terribly anxious.

“I would say, ‘or,’” says Burr, with a little smile, and Alex looks the epitome of hope.

“Does that mean -- was all that buying coffee for me -- I’m not mistaking you, do you -- Burr, do you like me?”

And Burr kisses him. He intends it to be soft, light, just once, but Alex parts his lips and reaches for Burr, cradling his head in his hands, and Burr laces his fingers into Alex’s hair and it is lovely lovely lovely until Alexander pulls back, out of breath and smiling brighter than Burr has ever seen. Burr dizzily realizes that he is smiling back.

“You’re gorgeous,” Alex says. “That _smile_.”

Burr tries to hide it, tries to stop smiling, but Alex puts his hand under Burr’s chin and tilts his head up and Burr is laughing and Alex is laughing too. There is sunlight coming through the window and Alex’s hands are warm and Burr leans in to kiss him, again, again, and when he eventually has to leave, he keeps a lingering smile and the warmth of Alex’s hands.

Alexander’s apartment is indeed a mess. Via a long, rambling text message, he has learned that he usually shares it with his three friends who are currently off in France. There is an unfolded basket of laundry on the couch -- Burr isn’t sure if it’s clean or not, but it doesn’t look like Alexander’s color scheme (oh god, he knows Alexander’s _color scheme_ ), so he leaves it be. Alexander’s room is the only one with the door open; it is obviously his room because there are things strewn about on every available surface. The floor is a sea of papers and clothes, his bed is unmade, there are more stacks of papers and folders and books on his desk and dresser and in the corner and at the foot of his bed. There is another basket of laundry sitting on the desk chair, which Alexander had said was clean, but it too is not folded.

Burr packs up Alex’s laptop, various necessary chargers and whatnot. He studies the laundry basket for a moment, squints at it, then just dumps it into the suitcase. That can be dealt with later. He texts Alexander, asking if there’s anything else he’ll need, and when the answer is “prob not,” Burr heads for his own apartment, triple-checking that he’s locked the door before he leaves.

When he comes back to pick Alex up, Alex shoots him the most relieved look. “Thank god you’re here. I’m sure you’re fussy but no way could any single person be as fussy as this hospital staff, jesus.”

Burr rolls his eyes, but can’t hide his amusement. Alexander complains about the lack of privacy and personal space in his stay the whole way out to Burr’s car, and the whole way home, and all the way to Burr’s apartment. He moves more carefully, more slowly than he did -- despite his insistence that he is perfectly fine, he is clearly not completely healed yet. Burr takes him to get set up in his room; Alex sits down gingerly at the edge of the bed and looks around.

“Is this your room?”

“...Yes? It’s a one-bedroom apartment.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

Burr shrugs. “I guess the couch, I don’t want to disturb your sleep.”

“Oh,” says Alexander. He looks up at Burr. “Will you stay with me for now, at least?”

So Burr gets in bed with him, under the covers. Alexander tucks his face beneath Burr’s chin, against his neck.

“You’re such a dumbass,” Burr says, pulling Alex closer.

“What!”

“Putting yourself in the line of a bullet to get attention, the fuck were you thinking?”

“It was not to get attention,” Alex says, miffed. “It was for the greater good.

Burr pulls back a little to raise his eyebrows at him, and Alex laughs, and Burr can’t help but kiss him. They settle with Alex mostly on his back, curled towards Burr a little, and Burr doesn’t mind wanting this so badly because it is so obviously reciprocal. He tugs the elastic out of Alex’s hair to run his hands through it -- it’s soft, and Alex makes a beautiful quiet sound when he does this.

“You’re still not out of trouble,” Burr says, trying to hide his smile by kissing along Alex’s jaw. (He does not think Alex is fooled.) “You made a remarkably stupid decision, even for yourself --”

“Hey!”

Burr tugs at the hem of Alex’s shirt -- a question -- Alex nods, and obliges Burr by assisting him in taking it off. There is still a bandage on Alex’s side, but according to the report he’d gotten over text message, the stitches had come out earlier. Burr kisses his collarbone, and between kisses he keeps up his chastisement. “No, for real, if you didn’t know you had those healing abilities then what the fuck, Alex, you put your life at risk every night you went out there -- you didn’t even have anything bulletproof! How did Hercules let you go out?”

“He didn’t know, I made it myself.” Burr makes a frustrated sound, drags his mouth back up to Alexander’s neck. Alex sighs, and adds, “You should just keep doing this, isn’t it far better than lecturing me?”

“No,” says Burr, and pokes at his uninjured ribs. Alex yelps. “Oh, you are ticklish!”

“No! No I’m not!” But he is laughing, and he laughs still harder as Burr kisses him all over his torso, and Burr can’t help his smile, he really can’t. “Aaron Burr, you are a dork.”

“Mm,” says Burr, and he may or may not move his hand accidentally-or-not somewhere that draws a lovely gasp from Alex. “But you like me.”

“Oh,” says Alex, Alex whose face goes soft as he reaches out to touch Burr’s face. “I do, so much.”

Burr abandons his pursuits at frustrating Alex to press close against him and kiss him, slow, sweet, until the room goes dim and they’re more just close to each other than kissing and Alex complains that he can’t see Burr’s face.

“Shut up and go to sleep, then,” mumbles Burr, his eyes half-closed. Alex makes a protesting noise, but Burr pushes his face against the side of Alex’s neck and pulls the covers more deliberately over the both of them.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“Shut up,” Burr says again.

“You’re cute always, actually.”

“Shh.”

“Why are you so cold? Is that part of your ice powers?”

“Yes. Go to sleep.”

“Are you going to leech all my heat all night?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” says Alex, and then immediately goes tense when he catches himself. Burr takes a moment to process this.

“Quit fussing and sleep, Alexander,” he says, and kisses him once, softly. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~~i feel like this is begging for a companion work about theodosia and eliza. also theyre married its canon now~~
> 
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> i don't know anything about hospitals, can you tell? anyway you can find me on tumblr at waitforit--waitforit


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